Neighbors of Crime
by aszecsei
Summary: An intriguing new girl moves into Little Whinging, Surrey.  Another sociopath!Harry, I guess, but he's ridiculously loyal.  And yes, there will be explanations  as much as there can be in such a plot-hole-filled universe .
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Saw Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Still upset that they killed off my second-favorite character (and favorite female character in literature) (and fans can go on about "ambiguity" and such, but that death was still a disappointment). I wrote this as consolation. And I'm sure other people could do it much better, but nobody has yet, so. Write a better version of this, or something similar, please?**

**Also: not a one-shot. Hopefully it'll be eight chapters total, one for every summer, since _Connections_ is sapping me of all my Hogwarts inspiration.  
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><p>The neighbors had moved into Number 8, Privet Drive two weeks ago. A married couple and their daughter now inhabited the house that had, for the past month, been for sale. They were the subject of much talk amongst the local gossip network headed by Petunia Dursley.<p>

They quickly got to know each of their neighbors, except for a small boy they had only seen a glimpse of once before Petunia Dursley had hurried him away. Further questioning revealed his identity to be that of Harry James Potter, miscreant and black sheep of the "Perfectly Normal Association" of Little Whinging, Surrey.

One month after they moved in, their daughter climbed out of her window and crept to Number 4. She pressed her ear to the door and wiggled the doorknob. Nodding to herself, she leaned back a little, removed a bobby pin from her hair, and inserted it into the lock. She took a small paperclip, unbent the end, and inserted it as well. She fiddled with the two pieces of metal, feeling out the pins in the locking mechanism and unlocking the door.

It swung open with a quiet click.

The little girl replaced the bobby pin and pocketed the paperclip before stepping into the house and slowly shutting the door behind her. On tiptoe, she moved around the house, examining her surroundings.

The kitchen was spotlessly clean, unnaturally so. The white counters gleamed, even in what little moonlight came through the windows. There were three places set at the table.

She could hear snoring from the downstairs bedroom: an older man, definitely not the mysterious Harry James Potter. She assumed that the room contained both Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Still on tiptoe, she began climbing up the stairs. One of them creaked – she froze for a second, listening for any change in the snoring. When no reaction came, she continued her climb. There were two bedrooms on the second floor, along with a bathroom. One of the bedroom doors was open – it was filled with broken toys.

She opened the other door slowly. Dudley Dursley, the son of Petunia and Vernon, was sleeping on his side, sucking on his thumb and making little grunting noises that were more appropriate on a pig than a human. Making a face, she closed the door, freezing again when it made a little squeak.

Where could Harry Potter be? Obviously she had missed something. There was nowhere upstairs, which meant that he was downstairs.

She crept down the stairs, skipping the one that creaked.

Where had she missed? Did the boy sleep in the same room as his Aunt and Uncle?

She shrugged and peered inside the last bedroom. Then she withdrew, quickly. For whatever reason, Vernon and Petunia had been...celebrating...last night, and she did _not_ need to see the results.

Then she noticed it: scratch marks.

It wouldn't have meant much, except for the fact that the Dursleys didn't own a pet of any sort. And while Vernon's sister Marge apparently bred bulldogs, she did not visit enough for the scratches to be so engraved into the wood around the cupboard. So what could make these gouges, and why?

She unlatched the cupboard, and stared in shock. A small boy with a messy shock of black hair slept in the small cupboard. He was thin – almost emaciated – and a bruise was forming on his ribcage.

He was also, if the wide green eyes staring at her were any indication, awake.

"Hello," she whispered. "Would you like to have some fun with me tonight?"

It might have been a come-on if she didn't say it in such an innocent tone. She held out one hand, and he stared at it for a second, as though it might turn out to be a fish. Then, with a shaking hand, he clasped her hand and simply felt it.

"Come on," she repeated, and pulled him out of the cupboard. As a young girl, she really shouldn't have had the strength to lift another child, but Harry Potter was mostly skin and bones, so he came up rather easily.

She led him through the door and down the street.

"Mr. Fairbanks won't be home tonight," she informed him. "Every Wednesday, he goes off to visit a lady-friend. His wife is going to be following him thanks to an...anonymous tip. So they won't be back for a while."

Harry didn't say anything. He hadn't actually said anything since she'd taken him from the cupboard.

"Hey," she called. "Did you hear me?"

He ducked his head. "Yes miss. Sorry miss."

Polite, apparently. Nowhere near the image of scruffy miscreant the Dursleys portrayed to the rest of Little Whinging. Hopefully he wouldn't be totally averse to the idea of petty crime.

She led him to the door of Number 12 and jiggled the doorknob. To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and she crept in. Even if she was reasonably certain neither of the Fairbanks would be home that night, it never hurt to be careful.

There was a sudden motion and her world went dark.

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><p>"Wakey, wakey," a voice said. She blinked twice, her vision swimming into focus, and looked up. Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks stood in front of her.<p>

"Oh, good," said Mrs. Fairbanks, "she's awake. I'm glad. I do so _like_ it when they're conscious."

She quickly assessed the situation. Her mouth was taped shut, and her arms and legs were bound tightly to a chair.

"See, my husband doesn't go out cheating on me," Mrs. Fairbanks explained. Her voice was light and whimsical, fluttering between pitches disconcertingly. "He brings me pretty little presents."

The woman reached out her hand and stroked her cheek. "Like you."

Mr. Fairbanks smiled benignly at his wife. "Anything for you, luv," he said, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

Things were not looking good. Where was Harry Potter?

"Anyway," Mrs. Fairbanks drew out the word. "Let's see just how pretty you are, my little poppet."

She popped the last two p's and giggled. She moved forward...

...and kept moving forward, falling on her face. A large knife stuck out of her back, blood pooling around the wound.

Mr. Fairbanks recovered quickly with a scream of rage.

"Who did that?" he bellowed. "Who killed my wife?"

He reached down and removed the knife from his wife's back. At the last second, he rotated his body and parried a thrust from another knife. He reached out for his attacker, but the knife wielder dodged backwards and to the side, taking another swipe as Mr. Fairbanks overextended.

The older man dropped the knife as the other blade sliced open a gash in his forearm. There was a moment in which the man seemed confused, and then the blade entered his ribcage and stilled.

Mr. Fairbanks stared at the shadows before his legs gave out and he fell to the floor, dead.

The girl watched as Harry Potter stepped out of the shadows. "Thank you," she told him. He simply stared at her. Then: "You're welcome, miss."

There was no mistaking the shy smile.

"Alright, let's get the valuables," she said, businesslike again. "You take the upstairs, I'll clear out the downstairs."

Harry moved up the stairs silently, and she started emptying drawers, looking for jewelry. In fifteen minutes, Harry returned, carrying a large black bag.

"Got everything?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," Harry replied.

"Good," she replied. "I'll keep the money and give it to you every day so you can buy some lunch. I'm assuming the Dursleys would take anything you held onto as soon as they saw it."

"Yes, miss," he said again.

"I'm sure we can become excellent friends," she said, ignoring the two cooling bodies on the floor. "I know your name; do you know mine?"

"No, miss," said Harry.

She gave a smile she was told looked mysterious and alluring. "It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter. I am Irene Adler."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The second chapter has arrived, much longer than the first - almost double the word count! A bit of Irene's family, because I always wondered what her parents were like. There's a bit of OOC Irene, but most of it's Harry's influence. Hopefully it's an...enjoyable...read!  
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><p>The Dursleys' car rolled into the driveway, and she peered through her bedroom window. The fattest, Vernon Dursley, exited the driver's seat. Petunia Dursley, a woman as tall and thin as her husband was fat, climbed from the passenger's side, and behind her, Dudley Dursley – who took after his father in all but his whitish-blonde hair – also made his exit.<p>

She waited with bated breath, as the fourth door opened, and Harry Potter stepped from the car. He was thicker than when she had last seen him, though this was by no means a bad thing. Irene wondered whether or not she would still be able to see his ribs now.

He walked behind the Dursleys, a meekness that had been beaten into him since birth, and followed them inside the house. A smile slowly filled Irene's face. Finally, her accomplice – friend, she thought, even as the term was nowhere near broad enough to fully describe their relationship – had returned from the boarding school in Scotland where she could not follow.

"Irene!" her mother called. "Come down here, please!"

She moved away from the window, casting a single glance back at Number Four, Privet Drive, and went downstairs to where her mother was sitting in the living room. Mary Adler was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Steve Adler was her fifth husband, and though he was not as well-off as the previous four, he had an ailing uncle, without children of his own, that was quite rich.

Irene had been a mistake made with Number Two, one that Mary had made sure not to repeat with any subsequent endeavors of love – or rather the fiscal aspects of marriage.

"Yes, mother?" Irene asked.

"Potter has returned from Saint Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys," Mary said. "You will maintain your distance, am I understood? I cannot afford to have any scandal, not right now."

"Yes, mother," she said.

Her mother had been shocked when, at age five, Irene had discovered her light fingers. She had since forbidden Irene from doing anything unlawful. Irene had simply made sure never to get caught, and it was working out quite well for her. Over the past two years, she had begun building up her own gang without her mother's knowledge. There was only one last obstacle in her path, one person that might pose a threat to her takeover of Little Whinging, and now that Harry Potter had returned, she fully intended to take care of him.

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><p>She waited until nightfall, as usual, and then exited her house through the window. She crept over to Number Four and picked the lock, then climbed the stairs, jumping over the one that creaked. She opened the door to Harry's bedroom, and found him sitting on his bed, as she expected.<p>

"Hello," she said, looking around. A worn trunk had been haphazardly shoved to the foot of the bed, and his owl – Hedwig, she thought its name was – was inside a cage on the nightstand.

"Hello, miss," Harry replied.

She'd managed to keep him from applying the title to everyone he met, but he insisted on using it to refer to her. It was, as he'd explained so many times, only proper.

"Tell me about Hogwarts," she told him, and he ducked his head.

"I convinced everyone that I was weak and harmless," he told her in the softly respectful tone he now reserved exclusively for her. "The majority of the Wizarding World lacks common sense, so it was fairly easy. All I had to do was convince a mind-reading hat to call me a foolishly noble and brave person."

"Who did you befriend?"

"A young girl named Hermione Granger, who is very intelligent but lacks social skills, and a boy named Ronald Weasley, who is moronic but provides further evidence that I am weak, harmless, and above all, a good person."

"Very good. Beware of the Granger girl; if she is as intelligent as you say, she may discover your mask."

"She owes me a life-debt; should I require it, her magic will enforce her silence."

"So there were incidents?"

"Two, miss. A mountain troll was released in the school, and I saved Granger's life after it was endangered by Weasley."

"That disqualifies him from collecting on the debt?"

"Yes, miss. At the end of the year, I discovered that one of the professors was being possessed by the shade of Lord Voldemort and was attempting to steal a Sorcerer's Stone in order to return to corporeal form. I prevented him from accomplishing the task."

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a blood-red stone.

"Albus Dumbledore believed it best to destroy the stone he found on my person."

She smiled; Harry had done well.

"Very good. What properties does this stone possess?"

"Thank you, miss. It can turn any metal into gold, as well as create a liquid called the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal as long as he or she drinks the elixir."

"I see. Other than the gold transmutation, I do not see the purpose of the stone at this point in time."

Harry ducked his head again and wrapped the stone in an old pair of socks before stuffing the socks in the bottom of his trunk.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, miss."

"You have done well, Harry. I am very pleased."

The boy in front of her blushed. The Dursleys had never given him praise; now that he received it, it gave him an unfamiliar rush of pleasure he could not control. Irene knew this, and while she was displeased that others had done this to _her_ Harry, she was not above using it to her advantage. After all, having him link his own feelings to her pride in him was an excellent way to guarantee continued loyalty.

"The…organization has continued to expand in your absence," she continued. "There is, however, one small obstacle. Another gang has sprung up in our territory, and is not backing down."

"You wish for me to crush them, miss?"

"Their leader," Irene corrected. "Without him, they will fall easily. I would've done this sooner, but I did wish for you to return before I destroyed him."

"Who, miss?"

"Dudley Dursley," Irene said, and was monumentally glad that she was in control of the monster grinning at her from Harry Potter's bed.

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><p>She opened the door and let followed Harry Potter into his cousin's room, letting him lead. She would occasionally have him take control – after all, she didn't want a…friend…completely unable to perform independent action.<p>

Harry moved around his cousin, gleefully using a roll of duct tape to tightly secure the other boy's limbs, and then placing a strip of it over the boy's lips. It was strong, and it would hurt like hell when it came off, both reasons appealing greatly to Harry. He picked up his cousin's arms, and waited for Irene to take his feet, before they both took the heavy boy outside and into the empty house where Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks had once resided.

Harry tore the duct tape from Dudley's mouth and watched the blood flow from where the tape had torn skin.

"What the hell is going on?" Dudley screamed.

Harry slapped Dudley twice. "Be quiet, Dudley," he said, "and don't speak unless spoken to."

"Dad's gonna beat you raw for this," the blonde said, ignoring what his cousin had said. Then a wave of pain erupted across his face. He blinked and saw a belt in Harry's hand.

"I said don't speak unless spoken to," he said. His voice was still soft, and for some reason that seemed even scarier to Dudley than when his father got drunk and started yelling.

"Now then," came a new voice – a girl, Dudley realized – "we're going to have a chat about this…gang of yours."

"What?" Dudley asked stupidly. He'd imagined something about the freak getting even with him, but this didn't make sense. Why was his cousin doing anything, least of all beating him, with a _girl_?

"You see, I'm the leader of another group of people," the girl continued, "and we're rather displeased about this whole thing."

Dudley laughed. "Yeah, like they'd let a _girl_ be in charge of a gang," he chuckled. "What'd you have to do, go down on them all?"

The girl's voice went hard. "Not quite," she said. "In fact, that very thing came up when I first took over. That, along with my age, were both questioned – quite rudely, I might add – by an older boy, Mark Thomas."

Dudley didn't say anything. This girl was now giving him the creeps. What was going on?

"I let Harry loose," she said. "He cut a hole in Mark Thomas's jeans, and put one of his favorite knives straight through Mark Thomas's genitals. My Harry is quite an artist with the knife, you see, and he made Mr. Thomas scream so very, very much."

Dudley whimpered a little in sympathetic pain.

"Surprisingly, nobody has made any complaints about either my age or gender since them," she continued. "But I suppose that's neither here nor there. What really matters, Dudley, is your little gang. Now, I've thought about actually going and beating you all into submission. I thought it would be rather fun. But then I realized that Harry here deserves a bit of revenge, don't you agree?"

Dudley's eyes flickered to his cousin's face – and focused on the demented grin adorning the child's mouth. He gulped when he saw teeth glint.

"So here's what we're going to do, Dudley," the girl said. "Tonight, Harry is going to be taking what you've taken from him, _with interest_. And he's not going to leave any visible marks. And tomorrow, you're going to disband your little gang, and you're not going to try and get retaliation of any kind. Because if I find out you do so – if I catch a single _whisper_ of your disobedience, then the pain you feel tonight will be _nothing_ to what you will feel then. Am I understood?"

Dudley's eyes widened as another strip of duct tape was applied to his mouth, and then the belt came down again, and his muffled screams filled the house.

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><p>When Harry finally let Dudley pass out, she left the room quickly. She'd seen Harry do quite a bit with his victims since he'd become her enforcer and bodyguard. But the hours of torture she had just witnessed were unlike anything she'd ever seen before.<p>

Harry followed not long after. He was always clean with his work, not wanting to waste any extra time wiping up after himself. "Are you alright, miss?"

She nodded. "That was…worse than the others."

Harry ducked his head. "I'm sorry, miss."

Irene shook her head. "I instructed you to destroy him," she said, "and you followed instructions. I simply was not prepared for such…brutality." She straightened. "I will not make such a mistake again."

"Yes, miss," Harry said, though his eyes still contained hints of worry. She forced a smile, and he seemed to relax a little.

"I think I will stick to theft and nonviolent crime," she said, tilting her head to one side. "I do not find such violence as appealing as you do."

"I am whatever you need, miss," Harry said. "When we met, you needed an accomplice. When you took over Little Whinging, you needed an enforcer. Now, you need something else, and I shall fill that role, too."

Irene smiled at Harry and kissed him on the cheek. The boy blushed furiously.

"Thank you, Harry," she said.

"Anything, miss," Harry said.

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><p>The next day, Dudley seemed very skittish, and while his friends Piers Polkiss and Malcolm Gordon were both disappointed that their dreams of becoming a widely-feared gang under their leader "Big D" were over, they knew better than to ask Dudley's reasons.<p>

Nor did they understand why little Irene Adler kept smirking at them all day from her front lawn.

She made sure that she stayed far away from Harry Potter while her mother could see her, and acted the perfect lady she was supposed to be.

But she always longed for night, and _her_ Harry.


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